


The Unbearable Lightness of Baggage

by RuntotheForest



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuntotheForest/pseuds/RuntotheForest
Summary: Ellie and Hardy's partnership takes a turn, unexpectedly.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 83
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fanfic. I found the first one quite cathartic and fun. It released a lot of creativity that had been stifled during the pandemic. Now it's like a drug. I want more! Enjoy - it's my therapy too!

_There are piles and piles of files._

Ellie Miller laughed wryly at her poetic thought, even as she was overwhelmed by the mound of paperwork she knew was in for. Hardy had piles too – deeper than hers. This was one unpleasant by-product of their successful working partnership – solved cases meant loads of paperwork. And there had been a surprising amount of solved cases in the last year, since Hardy had come back to Broadchurch. First, the Winterman case, then a missing persons case involving a local dignitary’s son, then a string of home invasions. Each case had seen the Broadchurch area on edge, and each of them had been effectively diffused and eventually solved by the suddenly celebrated Hardy/Miller partnership.

Ellie thought of how far they had come since Hardy was thought of as the “Worst Cop in Britain”, and she was ostracized as the wife of a paedophile murderer. There was a lifetime of baggage, all within a couple of years.

When Hardy had returned to Broadchurch, Ellie had been both ecstatic and furious at the same time. In the two years he was gone, she had spent countless hours with her therapist, talking through Joe’s betrayal and her feelings of overwhelming guilt and heartbreak. But she had also been surprised to hear how often her own voice spoke the name ‘Alec Hardy’ in her sessions. Initially, she had been irrationally angry with him for solving Danny Latimer’s murder, because it had taken Joe away from her. She had found herself wishing that the murderer had never been found, so she could go on living her _picture-perfect lie_. And of course, that had made her feel even more guilty.

At the same time, she was grateful that he had rescued her family from the unspeakable horror of living with the man who had murdered their son’s best friend, who thought he was in love with an 11 year-old boy. Hardy had been so gentle with her, in his awkward way, even as she had refused to let him comfort her. Later, during Sandbrook, she had risked her reputation to solve the case that had almost killed him. Her therapist had helped her realize she was doing it as much for herself as she was for Alec Hardy. It had given her a purpose while her life was crumbling around her. She sensed Hardy knew that, and again she was grateful to him.

But then he had left.

She was conflicted when they had parted, refusing to let her guard down or to even let him hug her. She had sobbed that day as she walked away from Hardy’s rented shack, fighting the urge to run back and beg him to stay. She had wondered for two years if she had allowed him to hug her, would he have changed his mind? Could she have changed his mind? She had thought he cared for her, but he had abandoned her, leaving her to survive her “new normal” on her own. She had missed him terribly, hated him fiercely, and, in some way, loved him desperately, all while grieving the loss of her innocence and her marriage - and learning to cope with single motherhood. For a full year, it was almost unbearable – but eventually it all began to dissolve into a manageable dull ache that allowed her to go through the motions, and to live something resembling life.

And then, _he came back_ , and they fell into familiar patterns and habits, and it was almost like he was never gone. _Almost._ Except that he wasn’t quite as haunted, Ellie noticed. His eyes weren’t always sunken and smudged with dark circles underneath. He remained thin, but not like before – before it seemed as though he might fold in on himself at any moment. He was still as gruff and grumpy as ever, but that was just Hardy. Ellie could always find her way through his moods, and everyone at CID knew it. In fact, she had been dubbed “The Hardy Whisperer” by several DC’s, who would bring difficult issues to her first in hopes that she would be the one to spring them on Hardy. He would take it from her, but anyone else was rewarded with an earful of salty language, colored by a dense Scots brogue. Still, overall, there was a glimmer of lightness about him, as though some heavy weight had been lifted, and he could finally begin to take breaths again.

Ellie also realized that as Hardy seemed a little lighter, so did she.

Their success as detectives and partners was something she was fiercely proud of. Hardy didn’t seem to care, but when they both received a commendation for finding the dignitary’s son, he had nodded at her and whispered, “You deserve this, Miller.” Hardy may not have cared about receiving credit, but he wanted Ellie to receive it. This was one thing she was keenly aware of.

But Ellie also began to be aware of other things about Hardy – things that she felt she shouldn’t notice, because they weren’t remotely professional. She hadn’t realized that his shirts fit so well that they lightly skimmed his torso without actually being tight. She imagined Tess had bought them for him. Custom, maybe. The white shirts were especially troublesome, as you could almost see through them to his chest underneath. She forced herself not to think about _underneath_.

Recently, when they had spent time together in the car or at his desk, she noticed his scent - he smelled like a subtle blend of some indistinguishable woodsy spice and fresh air. Not overwhelming – just enough to tantalize with its damned _masculinity_.

She noticed that when he put his glasses on, his face was a tangle of intelligence and competence and, _for fuck’s sake_ , he was _adorable_. And when he took the glasses off, she sometimes couldn’t look directly into his very expressive brown eyes for fear of getting lost there.

She was unsure when she had started to feel this way, and it was decidedly unsettling. She hated the idea of mooning over her boss, her partner, her friend. That’s not who “they” were. How could they work effectively together if she couldn’t keep her head clear of these wildly inappropriate thoughts? Her therapist was going to hear Alec Hardy’s name some more, that was certain.

Ellie shook her head, hoping it would clear her head a bit and allow her to focus on the dreaded paperwork. Hardy hated paperwork too. She knew it made him grumpy. Ellie looked in at him, and he was frowning, staring over some file, pen in hand, glasses on. Ellie’s heart fluttered a bit. He looked up then and met her eye, gave a little wave, then set back to it. Ellie returned to her paperwork, a bit breathless.

Several hours later, Ellie’s eyes were glazing over a bit. She looked at her phone to check the time. 4:00, two more hours. She rubbed her eyes and sighed at the amount of work she still had left. _This will take days_ , she thought. She mindlessly played with a curl while attempting to refocus on her task. At that moment, Hardy appeared next to her desk, with tea, which he set down next to her elbow.

“I come offering respite from your mind-numbing task. And mine,” he added drily.

She blinked up at him, masking her gratitude. “It’s fresh, right? You didn’t just reheat some bloody old teabag and try to pass it off as actual tea?”

He didn’t dignify it with a response. “Just drink your tea, Miller. It’s strong, the way you like it. Looks like you need it, too.” And he squeezed her shoulder briefly and gently as he disappeared back to his office.

Her shoulder felt white-hot where he had touched her. This was new. They didn’t touch, really, other than the odd brushing of hands or arms that happens with anyone with whom you’re in close contact. She shrugged it off as an aberration, sipped her perfectly prepared tea, and went back to the dreaded task at hand.

A few minutes later, Ellie heard her name coming from his office.

“Miller!”

She pushed herself away from her desk and stuck her head inside his door quizzically. He took his glasses off, absently, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want to bring some of that godawful paperwork in here?” he asked, somewhat more quietly than she would have expected.

She pondered this for a moment.

“Why?”

There was an odd silence. He hadn’t expected a question, she thought. He pulled himself up a little taller behind his desk.

“I seem to – think more clearly. When you’re in here, I mean. And not out there.”

Ellie wasn’t sure if she was still breathing. She gave a little cough, just to make sure.

“It’s not weird,” he explained. “I’m just used to having you in the room.”

More silence.

“Of course, I’ll get some files.”

“You can have the sofa, or I can clear a space for you on my desk.” It was a question, although it didn’t sound like one.

“Sofa,” she managed, before turning back to her desk. Proximity was worrisome. The sofa was safer.

They finished the afternoon in companionable silence, working on their respective case files. The end of their shift came at 6:00, and they both packed their things, grabbed coats, and walked out together, as usual. They ended up at Ellie’s VW, and stood for a moment. Hardy shifted his weight a bit, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, then finally mumbled, “Thanks for your help, Miller. See you tomorrow.”

And he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. _Intentionally_. As though it was perfectly normal. Then he strode off, all legs and purpose. Ellie stared after him, not daring to say a word.

Her therapist would definitely be receiving a phone call tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit disjointed, sorry. I just said goodbye to my old, dear dog, and it was very traumatic. Whoever thought Broadchurch fan fiction could be therapy?

Chapter 2

These days, Ellie could tell when Hardy had a nightmare. When she saw him come in to work the next day, she knew immediately. 

She had steadfastly made her mind up to try not to _notice_ so much today. The brief call to her therapist last night had encouraged self-control (which made her blush, even over the phone) and making lists (for reference) until they could have a proper appointment, which Dr. Carteris scheduled for some time next week. The next morning, at the first sight of Hardy, she decided that NOW was a good time to make a list – although she was certain this was not what Dr. Carteris had in mind, and she was not actually planning to share this information with her therapist. _Bugger it_! _I’m a bloody detective,_ she rationalized. _I’m collecting visual evidence._

She mentally compiled her itemized list:

Item 1: Hardy was a few minutes late for work. Alec Hardy was never late. He either arrived eons before anyone else, or he was at least a solid fifteen minutes early. But never, ever late _. Not even when he was bloody dying,_ Ellie thought. She wasn’t sure if that was admirable or stupid, and eventually arrived at the conclusion that it was both.

Item 2: His eyes were bleary, and the dark circles had made a reappearance. If Ellie didn’t know any better, she would think he had tossed back a few too many last night - but in the several years she’d known him, she could count the number of times she’d seen him drinking on one hand. _Knob,_ she thought. _He’d probably be a lot more fun with a few pints in him._

Item 3: His face looked, well, _haunted_. It was all angles and furrows, and the crease in his brow looked permanent today. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it seemed as though it would require a Herculean effort for him to simply open his mouth and speak. She remembered him looking much like this when he had first come to Broadchurch, and sometimes during Sandbrook, but only very, very occasionally now. It was unsettling. _Especially_ now.

Item 4: He hadn’t even grunted a greeting to anyone upon his arrival, not even her. He hadn’t looked at anyone either. Ellie had half expected some type of, well - _contact_ \- after yesterday, but he didn’t even glance her way - just slipped into his office and shut the door. This was both disappointing and something of a relief. Ellie didn’t understand how it could be both. _Well, that’s another question for Dr. Carteris_ , she thought. And then she remembered: _Bloody hell, I wasn’t going to tell her about this!_

She had a few little extras to add onto her list (the knot on his tie was askew, his hair was sticking up in back), but dammit, she had to get back to that endless stack of paperwork that bloody well wasn’t going to finish itself. She tried to do as Dr. Carteris suggested, and exercise some modicum of _self-control_ , and responsibly turned herself away from Hardy, back to the overabundance of paperwork.

Later in the morning, she watched as DC Harford was chased from Hardy’s office, with a blustery, “What is the point of you, Harford?!” Harford blew air out of her mouth and glowered at no one as she threw herself back into her desk chair. Ellie wasn’t a big fan of Katie Harford, but knew that she probably didn’t deserve whatever she had just been subjected to. Harford had left the door open in her haste to escape Hardy’s office, and Ellie glanced in now. Hardy’s head was buried in his hands for a moment, but then he rubbed his face, put his glasses on, and leaned into whatever his current task was. 

She fought the urge to barge into his office – for a while, anyway. After about half an hour, she went to the kitchenette, made two mugs of tea, put one on her desk, and stepped into the open doorway of Hardy’s office with the other. He was sitting at his desk, with his hands in his hair, looking downward at some file, she supposed, although she couldn’t see his face. She tiptoed closer, so as not to spill the tea or break his concentration. He didn’t move as she approached. He also didn’t move as she set the tea down on his desk - and then it dawned on her that he was actually asleep. 

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and nudged him, ever so slightly. “Hardy,” she said softly. “Hey.”

Hardy startled awake with an involuntary jerk and wild eyes. “What the hell are you doing, Miller?” His voice was husky. She stepped to the other side of his desk, putting an obstacle in between them, looking directly across at him. 

“I brought you some tea. You look like shit.”

“I wasn’t aware that I asked for your appraisal.” He looked down, making a show of shuffling papers.

“Are you all right? Did you sleep last night?” She worked at keeping her voice casual.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“It is my profound hope that I will more adequately meet with your approval tomorrow, and on all subsequent days thereafter.” There was not a trace of humor in his voice, and he did not meet her eye. 

“It is my profound hope that you’ll stop being such a knob.”

“Can I do anything else for you, Miller?” It was a quiet growl. Ellie stood her ground.

“You can tell me what’s going on with you.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He squirmed a little in his chair, still fussing with papers. She raised an eyebrow at him, which was a wasted gesture, because, dammit, he still wasn’t looking at her. She cut to the chase.

“Did you have a nightmare last night?”

Hardy stopped shuffling papers. _And breathing_ , Ellie thought. Now he was looking at her – rather, he was glaring at her. She walked around to his side of the desk and grabbed his arm.

“Come on, let’s go outside,” she said, tugging on his arm. He made no move to go with her. She tugged again, a little harder. “Do I really need to drag you? Come on!”

Rolling his eyes, he reluctantly followed her out of the building and down the steps, until they were standing by the seawall. Ellie sat down on the wall, and Hardy stood, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets. Neither of them spoke. They both looked out over the sea, quiet in the late morning ocean breeze. Ellie broke the silence.

“You had a nightmare,” she said, finally. It was a statement, not a question. There was another silence before his quiet response.

“How did you know?”

Ellie weighed the benefits of telling him she had made an evidentiary list to arrive at this conclusion. She decided against it.

“I _notice_ things,” she said instead. He gave her a quick glance at that, licking his lips as though he would ask a follow-up question. He didn’t, and again looked to the sea. Ellie brushed a windswept curl out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

“Is it still Pippa?” she asked, barely above a whisper. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“No. But I always think it’s going to be.” 

His hands were still jammed in his pockets, his eyes were far away. Ellie fought the impulse to touch his face.

“Alec,” she said softly, and she laid her hand gently on his arm. “Tell me.” He flinched slightly - she wasn’t sure if it was due to her touch, or the strangeness of hearing his name from her lips. But he didn’t pull away. _Little victories,_ thought Ellie.

“It’s always in the water,” he said. His voice was low and weary. “But it’s not Pippa anymore. When I get to her, it’s someone else now. It’s been a few different people - Danny Latimer, Trish Winterman.” He paused, and his breath was slightly ragged now. “Sometimes – sometimes it’s Daisy. And god, when I see Daisy in my arms, and her face is – and then I’m - “

He stopped, voice choking, aware of his own sudden incoherence. He forcefully ran his hand through his hair. Ellie said nothing, but gave his arm a squeeze. He looked down at her hand, as if suddenly aware of its presence. 

“Last night – “ 

His unfinished thought hung in the air, thick with ominous possibility. Ellie’s breath felt ragged now too, matching his.

“Last night – it was _you_ in my dream.”

Ellie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh,” she gasped softly. He looked at her then, and his eyes were soft and concerned.

An instant later, she felt his fingers twist around her own, squeezing tightly. She gave an involuntary shiver. His eyes were questioning, and she found herself nodding, giving silent permission to continue.

“You were different, Ellie.” She shivered again, hearing her name from his lips. “You weren’t in the river, you were in the ocean. And when I finally reached you, you were alive. I thought I could save you, but when I tried, I couldn’t swim through the waves. I was choking, we both started sinking, and -” He stopped again, rubbing his free hand over his face. “You died in my arms. I – I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t swim fast enough, and I couldn’t save you.” His hands were shaking now. She took his trembling hands and folded them into her own.

“But it’s not real, Alec. I’m here, I’m alive, it’s okay. It was just a dream.” 

“I know, I know. But when I wake up from these nightmares, they’re so bloody hard to shake. They seem so damn real that it takes me the rest of the night to convince myself that nobody really died. Last night, I couldn’t stop seeing your face. Even after I awoke from the dream, I couldn’t stop seeing your face.” He looked at her then, and she thought the intensity of his eyes might bore through her soul. “It helps to see your face now. Brings me back to reality.”

She searched his eyes, trying to find more. “Why do you think your dream about me was different?”

Their gaze broke, as Hardy looked back to the ocean. “Dunno,” he shrugged, and then he looked pensive, as though carefully constructing his next thought. “Maybe because you mean something to me - that's different from anyone else.” And he looked at her again, more intently this time. “You matter in my life, Ellie.”

Much to her surprise, Ellie gave an unintentional loud chirp of laughter, destroying the moment. Hardy looked wounded.

“You’re shite at taking a compliment,” he grumbled, pulling his hands away from hers.

“I didn’t mean to laugh, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to hearing compliments from you,” she explained, _mostly truthfully_ , she thought. “And to be honest, I’m not 100 percent sure that I believe you.” 

Hardy’s hands were back in his pockets. “I never say anything I don’t mean,” he mumbled.

Ellie thought about this for a moment, and realized it was absolutely, ridiculously true. Alec Hardy wasn’t one to placate people with false compliments or social niceties. If he said anything at all, it may have been blunt, it may have been laced with sarcasm or rudeness, but it was always his truth. And at that moment, she realized it was one of his many awkward quirks that she truly adored. Without thinking, she threw her arms around him, drawing him close. He immediately stiffened, and she worried that her impulsive attempt at comfort was a mistake. But after a moment, he relaxed, and his arms found their way around her back and pulled her into his chest. _Spice and fresh air._ She inhaled his scent, as she melted into him, wondering why she had waited so long to allow herself this comfort.

“What?” he asked, pulling away. “Did you say something about spice and fresh air?”

 _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ She had said it out loud. She felt a blush heat her cheeks.

“No, it’s nothing.” She hurried to regain control of the conversation, eager to blow past her accidently articulated thought. They were apart again, and Hardy’s hands found his pockets once more. Ellie folded her arms in front of her, suddenly chilled by the ocean breeze.

“So – if I understand correctly, when you have a nightmare, you can’t go back to sleep afterwards, because you keep seeing whoever’s face it is you’re dreaming about?” 

Hardy nodded, exhaling his breath through his nose.

“It’s why I never bloody slept when you first knew me. I chose not to sleep rather than to have the same dream about Pippa every night - only to wake up so I could be haunted by her face while I was awake as well.”

Ellie fought the urge to hug him again. She laid a hand on his arm again, _a compromise_.

“I want you to promise me something,” she said. Hardy nodded slightly, a bit hesitant. “Promise me that if you dream I’m dying or dead in your arms, that you will pick up your phone, call me, and listen to my voice so I don’t haunt you for the rest of the night. No matter what time it is. Will you do that?”

He shuffled his feet a bit and sighed. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“I insist,” she said, and gave him the brightest smile she could. She saw him react to her smile. His eyes slightly widened, and before she knew what was happening, he leaned down and placed his lips softly on her cheek, leaving them to linger a moment before slowly pulling away. Ellie’s skin tingled.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I hope I’ll never have to fulfill that promise.”

And then suddenly Hardy was leaving, striding back towards CID, reenergized. “Come on, Miller. That bloody paperwork isn’t going to finish itself.”

Ellie could still feel the warmth and softness of his lips touching her cheek. Breathlessly, she turned to follow him, attempting to catch up with his long strides, trying not to notice the fire in the pit of her stomach. 

_Bloody hell! Back to self-control and making lists..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was intending three chapters, but there was too much for three chapters. There will be one more after this! Please enjoy, and know that I am having the time of my life writing for these dears.

Chapter 3

Nine days later, the thunderous vibration of the phone on her nightstand disturbed Ellie from a blissfully deep sleep. She awoke with a start, confused, blinking with bleary eyes at the too-bright screen in her dark bedroom. Clumsily, she grabbed for it and looked at the display. _Hardy._ _What the fuck?_

“This better be good, Hardy. It’s after bloody 2 in the morning,” she sputtered indignantly.

“You - told me to….” She heard it then, the breathlessness, the panic, the muffled sobs. Ellie froze and sat bolt upright.

“Alec!”

“Ellie, just – say something. Please.” He was pleading, and it made her heart ache.

“Alec, it’s alright. I’m here. Nothing’s happened. Just breathe. Will you breathe for me?” She heard mostly silence punctuated by unnaturally fast, ragged breaths. “Alec, listen to my voice. Take a deep breath through your nose, and breathe out through your mouth. Try and slow your breathing down.” 

She heard him cough uncomfortably and change the cadence of his breathing. Although his breath remained heavy and labored, she could tell he was making a valiant attempt to slow it down. She kept talking all the while, murmuring encouragement and reminding him that she was indeed there at the other end of the line.

A solid ten minutes passed, and Hardy seemed to eventually gain more control over his breathing. The ragged breaths began to cease in frequency. He hadn’t said a word during that time, but at last she heard him take one very long, deep breath and smoothly exhale.

“Thanks,” he finally said, almost whispering. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Sorry.”

“You knob, I said don’t apologize!” There was no response to this, and Ellie felt slightly guilty for teasing him at such a vulnerable moment. She softened her tone. “Was it the same dream as last time?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. Then, more assertively, “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”

And he abruptly ended the call.

Ellie stared, blinking into the darkness of her bedroom. The last nine days had been a whirlwind of activity at CID, with a new case coming in – this time a series of overnight break-ins at local businesses – that was keeping them busy. Ellie and Hardy had been out in the field together quite a bit, and the dynamic between them had shifted in a way that Ellie thought was both exhilarating and unnerving. The touches had been more frequent – brushed arms, an occasional hand softly and briefly placed on her back, and those now nightly goodbye kisses on the top of her head. Ellie was grateful that work was keeping them busy, thus preventing her from being constantly distracted. As it was, there were times she felt as though she just might _spontaneously combust_ in his presence.

\-------------

In the few days after the middle-of-the-night phone call, Ellie noticed that Hardy was intentionally keeping his distance. He had thanked her again the morning after, placing a steaming mug of tea on her desk, but there was no touch. And every interaction later that day and for the next few days was without contact. And _sadly_ , Ellie thought, even the goodnight kisses had stopped – instead Hardy hustled out of CID at the end of the day, with a muttered “Goodnight, Miller.” Ellie was confused, but determined not to fret, and decided she could wait out whatever mood he was in. 

But a few days later, Hardy showed up three minutes late, with dark circles under his bleary eyes, tie askew, and Ellie officially ran out of patience. She barged into his office, where he was just hanging up his suit jacket.

“Outside! Now!” she hissed, through clenched teeth. Hardy’s weary eyes widened.

“What? Miller, I just got here!”

“I don’t bloody care. Now!” Then she turned abruptly, and stormed out. 

Ellie waited for Hardy at the seawall, with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at him as he slowly approached.

“You wanker. Why didn’t you call me?”

“What the hell are you on about, Miller?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You were late today.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, I was two minutes late!”

“Three.”

“What, are you keeping track now?”

“Yes, I bloody well am! You’re never late. And look at you – you obviously haven’t slept. Why didn’t you call me? You knob, you promised you would call me if you had the same bloody nightmare!”

Hardy looked defeated. He sighed, and ran a hand across his face. 

“Ellie.”

“Don’t you ‘Ellie’ me! You’ve barely said two words to me in the last few days, and now you show up looking like holy hell and pretending that everything is fine.”

Hardy jammed his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologize! Just tell me what’s wrong. Why didn’t you call me?”

Hardy looked at his feet, avoiding Ellie’s level gaze. 

“I didn’t want you to feel responsible for me,” he mumbled to his oxfords.

“Seriously, Hardy? _That’s_ what this is about? Do you realize that I’m a grown woman and can decide who I bloody well want to spend my early morning hours talking to on the phone, even if he’s an infuriating, moody, emotionally stunted knob!”

Much to Ellie’s horror, her eyes began to fill with tears, and she tried to wipe them away before they fell down her cheeks. _Dammit, I will not cry!_

“Ellie,” he said gently, wearily. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel as though we’ve become, well, _closer_ in the past few weeks.” He searched her face to see if she would indeed object, but she didn’t. Her expression was still defiant, but a few tears had spilled to her cheeks. He reached for one of them, wiping it away with his knuckle. Ellie’s face softened a bit.

“Don’t be nice,” she said, not really meaning it.

“Ellie, listen to me. I fear that – um – how I _feel_ about you is contributing to the frequency of these nightmares. I thought if maybe there was some, uh, space between us – well, maybe the dreams would be less frequent.”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook just yet.

“And how’s that working out for you?”

He dropped to the seawall and sat down, weariness overtaking him. His gaze shifted downward.

“Not much better, obviously.”

He looked so dejected and young. Ellie resisted the urge to brush his windswept hair from his eyes.

“Alec, look at me.” Hardy looked up and met her eyes. His eyes were deep and conflicted and _so very_ _brown_ , and Ellie felt as though she was falling into them. _Steady, Ellie_ , she thought. She cleared her throat, silently resolving to remain stoic, despite the fact that his eyes were making her feel a bit faint.

“You can’t change how you feel by pretending those feelings don’t exist, because we both know they do. Alec, I don’t know why you’re having these dreams, but I _want_ to help you get through them. As an adult woman who cares very much about you, I should have some say in this matter - it concerns me too. Don’t take that choice away from me because you’re worried about burdening me with your issues. I should think that after all this time, we’d be used to each other’s issues.”

Hardy raised an eyebrow and looked at her with something resembling wonder. “A fair point,” he softly responded.

And then Ellie leaned down and kissed _him_ on the cheek. She felt his breath stop, and watched a slight flush rise up his neck underneath his beard.

“Alec Hardy, I expect a call next time you have a nightmare. I _order_ you to call me.”

He gave her a lopsided smile, laced with mischief. “You do realize I’m the boss here, DS Miller.”

“Oh, is that so, DI Hardy?”

At that point, she sat down on the seawall next to him, grabbed his tie, pulled him toward her agonizingly slowly, then gently brushed her lips against his, letting them linger, ever-so-slightly. Hardy’s eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them.

The tingle when their lips touched was electric, and made her giddy. She heard Hardy’s breath catch, and then a slight involuntary groan from the back of his throat as she let go of his tie and leaned away from him. He watched her breathlessly, as she stood up and turned to start the short walk back toward CID. 

Hardy stood up and straightened his tie. 

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he meekly told her back.

Ellie’s knees felt wobbly, but she had never felt stronger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie takes charge again when Hardy has another nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up expanding this chapter, so I am expanding this fic. There is only one more chapter, I promise. Well, I think I promise...

Chapter 4

This time, her phone buzzed at close to 3:00 in the morning. It was technically the next day, but it still felt like today – the same day that Ellie had kissed Hardy at the seawall. _Christ_ , thought Ellie, _maybe I am the problem._

She answered her mobile, fully awake already.

“Alec?” He didn’t say anything, and Ellie heard only panting and gasping. “Come on, Alec, talk to me.” There was still nothing but unevenly punctuated, wheezing breaths, and then some – _was that retching_? _Shit!_ This was a bad one.

“Alec, I’m coming over there. I’ll stay on the phone with you, but I’ll be right there. Breathe, Alec. Please.”

Ellie felt a panic start to bubble in her chest, but stifled it with her own intentional, steady breathing. _Another reason to thank my therapist,_ she thought. She kept talking to Hardy, trying to maintain a soothing tone while throwing a jumper over her pajama top, and slipping trainers onto her feet. She grabbed her parka, and jotted a quick note for her dad about a work emergency ( _not completely untrue_ , she thought), just in case. Almost out the door, she had a quick notion, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cupboard. Once in the car, she popped the bottle into the overnight duffel she always kept in her car in case of emergency. 

She sped towards Hardy’s hillside home, faster than she should have, despite the middle-of-the-night lack of traffic. While driving, she unsuccessfully attempted to coax slow, steady breaths from Hardy over the phone. When she arrived at his home, ten minutes later, the house was dark. 

“Alec, I’m here,” she said into the phone. “Open the door for me, okay?”

A few moments later, the door clicked and swung open. Hardy saw Ellie and immediately threw his arms around her, holding her so tightly she thought she might suffocate. She wrapped her arms around his back and felt his shaking body and uneven breaths. Lowering her voice, she murmured gentle breathing instructions, and began to lightly rub circles into his back. After a few minutes, she felt his breathing slow a bit and begin to settle.

He was reluctant to let her go, but she gently extracted herself from his grasp, turned on the light, and stepped back to make an assessment. Hardy was a disheveled mess of cold, clammy skin and wild eyes with dilated pupils. He was wearing a bluish grey t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, and he was shivering as though the room was freezing.

“You’re a mess,” she said, fondly. He attempted a weak smile, despite shaking violently.

“I’m aware.” It came out as a hoarse whisper. Ellie led him to the sofa. 

“Sit down,” she gently ordered, and he silently obeyed, sinking into the sofa as though his body was entirely devoid of muscle. She wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. “I’m going to get you something to warm you up. Stay there, and keep working on slowing your breathing.” She walked to the door to retrieve the duffel she had dropped when Hardy opened the door. Placing it on the coffee table, she pulled out the bottle of whiskey, set it on the table, then disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two small glasses. She sat on the sofa next to him.

“This will take the edge off,” she said, pouring a healthy splash of whiskey in each glass.

Hardy looked apprehensive. “Don’t usually drink.” His voice was raspy.

“You think I don’t know that? This is an extenuating circumstance.” She gave him a glass. He accepted it, but then cradled it with trembling hands, making no move to drink it. Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t do anything for you if you just sit there and look at it. It’s not going to bite you.” He was still reluctant. “Why don’t you drink, anyway?”

He shivered again briefly and stared at his glass. “Gives people false courage,” was his quiet answer. She cocked her head and gave him a questioning look, and he continued. “People who drink do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do, or say things they wouldn’t ordinarily say, to people who they ordinarily wouldn’t talk to.” He exhaled forcefully, as though this statement had taken all his energy, and then he shuddered again.

Ellie chuckled. This was such a _Hardy_ thing to say, even though there might have been a ring of truth to it. “I would like to think that I don’t fit into any of those categories with you, do I?”

“Well, no…”

“But?”

He didn’t answer, and Ellie could see him thinking through his response. “Maybe I don’t want to say anything I normally wouldn’t say.”

“Christ, it’s a glass of whiskey. One glass won’t magically erode your inhibitions. I’m certain you won’t be declaring your undying love for me by sunrise.”

“Ellie…” He gave another involuntary shiver. Ellie pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and smoothed his hair. 

“Look at you. You’re a complete disaster, Alec Hardy. You are utterly wound up. You need to bloody relax so you can get some rest - and so _I_ can get some rest too. Stop being such a fuckwit and just _drink the whiskey_! But sip it, don’t gulp it.”

Hardy sipped his whiskey. 

Ellie thought he looked vaguely hunted. She had been all business with him since she had arrived, trying to get him to come down from his nightmare and the resulting panic attack. She looked at him then, wide eyes belying the fatigue she could see in the slump of his shoulders, and she felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach. 

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked affectionately. “If you wanted me to come over to your house in the middle of the night, you should have just asked.” Hardy leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, holding his glass in between them. He looked down at his bare feet. Ellie was slightly disappointed that he hadn’t seemed to notice the mildly suggestive attempt at light-hearted flirting.

“I’m sorry you had to come,” he said, still looking at his feet.

“No, I didn’t _have_ to come – I _wanted_ to come. And for the last time, stop apologizing to me.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “We can talk about this tomorrow. Right now, we have one goal – sleep.”

Hardy sighed, shivering again. “Ellie, I don’t know that I can sleep again tonight,” he said, somewhat mournfully. 

Ellie chuckled. “Oh, I guarantee you will.” Hardy looked up at her, confused. “I have my methods, “she explained. “The whiskey is just the beginning.”

\--------------------

About 20 minutes later, a glass and a half of whiskey was having its desired effect, Ellie thought. Much to her relief, Hardy no longer looked like a caged animal, and the shivering was tapering off. They had been sitting there in relative silence, Ellie occasionally asking Hardy if he was feeling better, Hardy answering mostly monosyllabically - both avoiding the serious questions they knew were lying just below the surface, because _now wasn’t the time_. _Tomorrow_ , thought Ellie. 

She was grateful this had happened on a weekend. Since it was now technically Saturday morning, there was no pressure to have to get up and function at work, for either of them. And she had texted her father, informing him that she wasn’t sure when she’d make it home. 

She looked at the clock. It was 4:00 in the morning now. She was starting to run out of steam, waiting for Hardy to wind down. _Time for Step Two._

“Lay down, Alec. Put your head in my lap.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Just do it.”

“Ellie, I – you – don’t have to - I - “ The whiskey was dulling his capability to respond coherently, and Ellie found this amusing. _Lightweight,_ she thought, fondly.

“Do you trust me, Alec?” He pondered this briefly.

“Aye,” he said softly. “More ‘n anyone.” Ellie felt her heart flutter a bit at that.

“Good. Put your head in my lap.”

She moved to the end of the sofa, and she helped him ease down onto his back, with his head resting on her legs. He lay there stiffly, looking up at her uneasily.

“Just relax,” she murmured. And then she began running her hands through his hair, moving in circles, brushing her fingertips lightly along his scalp. Hardy almost immediately went limp and closed his eyes, giving a soft, almost unconscious sigh. 

“Ellie,” he breathed.

“Shhh.” 

After a few minutes, she felt him starting to drift. _That was easy._ And she felt a warm thrill, that she, Ellie Miller, could turn Alec Bloody Hardy into putty with her hands.

“Come on Alec, let’s get you to bed.”

“Good at that,” he mumbled, drowsily.

She managed to get him to stand, and they slowly made their way to Hardy’s bedroom, and she helped him lower onto the double bed.

“Stay. Don’ go.” He reached for her. She smiled, and felt involuntary warmth rush through her body.

“I’m not leaving you tonight, you fool.” Ellie pulled off her jumper to reveal her pajama top, and took off her shoes. She retrieved the covers, which had been cast in all directions by Hardy’s nightmare, and pulled them up over the both of them.

Hardy made a slow-motion move to push off the covers. “D’you want me to sleep on top?” Ellie was amused and slightly touched that even mostly-asleep, he would consider her comfort.

“No. Stay there. Go to sleep,” she ordered, gently. And she kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Alec.” She closed her eyes.

“G’night, Ellie. Love you.” 

Ellie’s eyes opened wide. _So much for no declarations of love before sunrise._

“False courage?’ she asked, smiling in the dark.

But Hardy was already asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Ellie figure things out.

Chapter 5

Ellie awoke with her face in the chest of Hardy’s blue-grey tee shirt, and her legs tangled impossibly with his. His arm lay lightly across the top of her ribcage. She listened quietly for a moment, and heard his slow, rhythmic breathing - he was still very much asleep. She tried to carefully disentangle herself without disturbing him, and sat up, resting against the backboard. Hardy stirred a bit at the movement, but did not wake. 

Ellie found humor in the fact that the last time they’d shared a bed, they could barely look at each other, much less touch each other.

She picked up her mobile to check the time – 10:37 a.m. _Better check in with Dad_. 

**Hi Dad – got stuck overnight. Not sure when I’ll be back. Kids ok?**

She could predict his response, and when it came through, she rolled her eyes and chuckled silently.

**Your bastard boss needs to respect your time.**

And then:

**Kids are fine. Tom isn’t up yet. Fred watching telly.**

She put the phone back down on the nightstand, and slid back down under the covers, turning on her side to face Hardy. Asleep, his face was soft and youthful. Ellie wanted desperately to touch the crinkles at the edge of his eyes, and to trace her fingers along the freckles that were usually only apparent when he was outside, in the natural light of day. He looked so peaceful, and she was reluctant to wake him, content with simply watching him sleep. His head lay on his arm, and she noted with some amusement that his fingers had curled around and grabbed a handful of his own hair. Some of the hair in front flopped over his eyes, and without thinking, she reached to brush it back, dragging her fingertips across his forehead. 

Her fingers on his skin began to gently rouse him from sleep. Ellie watched with wonder as he half-awoke slowly, only to fall immediately back to sleep, then reawaken lazily, his motion returning limb by limb. Finally, he blinked half-open eyes and Ellie thought she showed admirable restraint by not smothering him in kisses right then, as endearing as he was while waking.

“Hi,” said Ellie, giving him her sweetest smile.

“Mmmhh.” 

She kissed his forehead. “I’ll go make us some tea,” she announced cheerily, and slipped out of bed and disappeared into the kitchen. She had two steaming mugs ready to take back into the bedroom, when Hardy appeared, rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking in all directions. 

“Morning, Sunshine!” Ellie chirped at him. He threw her a sleepy scowl, and Ellie was utterly charmed by his rumpled, grouchy morning face. She offered him a mug and he took it, brushing a clumsy kiss against her cheek.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently, and he laughed drily. 

“Like I’ve gone several rounds in a boxing match.” Hardy’s voice was husky from sleep. He sat down heavily at the table. “Pretty sure I lost that fight.”

“Last night was rough,” she conceded, sitting across from him. “You want to tell me about it?” 

Hardy gave a short laugh. “Not really. But you’ll probably force it out of me, sooner or later.” It was lighthearted, but they both knew it was true.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Ellie said anyway. “Do you have some food in this house? I’m starving.”

“Uh, I think there are some biscuits and fruit in there,” he said, his head slightly inclined toward the kitchen, “but I’m afraid that’s about it.”

“Lord, Hardy, now that Daisy’s off at uni, who’s going to make sure you don’t starve in your own home?” 

He rolled his eyes at her as she set off on a scavenger mission to piece together breakfast. A few minutes later, she reappeared with some fruit, yogurt, and biscuits. She popped open the lid of a yogurt container and made a face when the scent of expired, curdled milk reached her nostrils. 

“Sorry.” Hardy looked a bit sheepish. 

“Alec, seriously. I worry about you taking care of yourself. I was _really_ worried about you last night.”

Hardy looked down. “I know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You don’t want me to apologize. But I don’t know what else to say.”

Ellie chewed her bottom lip, considering. “Okay, please don’t get mad at me for asking, but have you ever considered therapy?”

He didn’t respond angrily, much to Ellie’s surprise. “I’ve done that, believe it or not. Tess made me go when I went back to Sandbrook. She wouldn’t even consider letting Daisy live with me if I didn’t see a therapist.” He sipped his tea. “It did help. Fewer nightmares, less anger, I suppose. Until the last few weeks, the only nightmares I had were during cases, like I told you – and there was one a few months ago when Daisy went off to uni, but that’s hardly surprising.”

Ellie nibbled a biscuit. “Right,” she said. “Dad anxiety. But now you’re having more nightmares – and panic attacks too.”

He nodded. “I used to get panic attacks sometimes after my dreams, but only occasionally. And I could usually find my way out of them, even back when I dreamed of Pippa every night. Later the therapist gave me breathing techniques that helped. But these last few times – the dreams with you in them - the feeling I’m left with after the dream is so awful and so real – those techniques don’t seem to work as well. Last night, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. I felt like my lungs were full of water. It made me sick.”

Ellie nodded. “It was bad,” she said quietly. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

He reached across the table for her hand. “I know. Scared myself as well.” 

Ellie rubbed the top of his fingers lightly. “Was it the dream itself that was so terrifying?”

“Ellie,” he said softly. “I don’t want to – “

“Please tell me, Alec.” She kissed the top of his hand. “I want to understand.”

He took a deep breath, as though to steady himself. “I can’t tell you everything. I don’t want you to see what I saw.”

“I can handle it.”

“Don’t know if _I_ can.” He stood up quickly, and took his tea over to the sofa, setting it on the coffee table, and ran his hands over his face, roughly. Ellie got up with her mug and joined him on the sofa, laying a hand on his knee.

“What are you scared of?” 

“I don’t bloody know, okay? I thought I had everything worked out with you.”

“ _Worked out_?” She was defensive now. “What the hell does that mean?”

He took her hand and shook his head. “I can’t hide from you anymore, Ellie. I tried.” 

“Hide? What are you talking about?” 

He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out, heavily. “I left Broadchurch to get away from you – well, not _from_ you, really, but the way I _felt_ about you.”

Ellie felt all her breath leave her body. 

“What?” she whispered.

“I couldn’t stay away. I waited two years and couldn’t stay away from you anymore.” Ellie felt faint.

“Ellie,” he said, so earnestly, “everything is better in my life when I’m around you. I think better. I _behave_ better. I risked coming back, and it was fine, it really was – for a year.” He stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up and met her eyes. “Until I let myself get closer to you, and I actually _touched_ you, and you didn’t pull away. I allowed myself to believe that maybe you felt - as I did. That’s when the nightmares started. We’ve been over that part already.” He rubbed his eyes, looking completely spent. 

He twined his fingers around hers, and looked at her with those damned expressive brown eyes.

“And then you kissed me, and I lost my bloody mind.”

Ellie felt frozen. She didn’t know if her face registered fear, horror, or happiness. He was searching her eyes for answers to his unasked questions, but she couldn’t seem to speak. Or move.

“Oh,” was all she could manage. 

“I should stop talking,” he said, looking down.

“No,” she whispered, hoarsely. “Talk.”

He took a deep breath, then continued, more quietly than before. “Last night’s dream was the most violent, horrifying dream I’ve ever had. I was in the water, as usual, but you weren’t. You were on the shore – with Joe.” Ellie gasped. Hardy’s breath turned heavy. “He had a knife at your throat, and was taunting me with it. I tried to swim to the shore to save you, but I couldn’t move. And you were laughing – laughing at me, because I was helpless.” His voice choked. “I watched him kill you, and I watched you laughing as he did it. The water turned red with your blood, and I was covered in it, and Joe was pushing me under the water, and I was choking -”

He buried his face in his hands. Ellie seemed to feel sensation coming back into her body in a rush. Her face felt hot and wet, and she realized she was crying.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Tell you what? That I ran away from here because of how I felt about you? Or that I came back knowing full well I still felt that way? Or that somewhere in my subconscious, I saw you being brutally murdered by your husband while helpless to save you, and I was bathed in your blood as I was drowning?”

Unbelievably, Ellie started to laugh. It was a giggle at first, then it gained momentum and burst into uncontrolled, convulsive peals that seemed to merge with sobs. _I really need to stop doing that,_ she thought. Hardy watched her uncertainly, dolefully.

“I’m sorry. It’s all so bloody ridiculous.” She wiped her eyes. “You literally waited _years_ to tell me this. And now you’re torturing yourself for being brave enough to finally do something about it. You’re letting it destroy you before you’ve even given me a chance to tell you how I feel.”

He looked lost then, and Ellie put her hand on his knee.

“Alec, listen to me. I have never understood what there is between us, but I think I’ve always known there was something. I knew it before you left, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. Only after you were gone did I realize how much you meant to me.” She grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles. He looked tense, but weary, Ellie thought, as though a slight breeze might topple him.

“And when you came back, you were different. Like you were holding back, but you were somehow – _lighter._ Not that you weren’t still a grumpy knob, but you didn’t _brood_ as much. I figured it was because of Daisy. The first inkling I got that you had any interest in me was when you wanted me in your office so you could, uh, _think_ better. And then you started kissing the top of my head. And having nightmares.” She chuckled again, and Hardy closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I would give you the name of my therapist, but she already knows too much about you already,” said Ellie, and she kissed him while his eyes were still closed. She could hear his breathing change when her lips met his. He kept his eyes closed for the duration of the slow, sweet kiss. They pulled away from each other, slowly. He reached to her hair and tugged gently on an unruly curl.

“Ellie. Thank you - for staying with me last night.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well go when you asked me not to.”

He frowned. “I did no such thing,” he said, and Ellie couldn’t help but smile.

“You did. I got you drunk on a bit of whiskey, and you begged me to stay. Honestly, you should drink more often. You’re adorable. And a lightweight.” She touched his chest.

Hardy blushed, and brushed her hand away in mock indignance. “Was the whiskey really necessary?”

“Yes,” she said, and kissed him again. “It was perfect. But it was only Step 1 of my brilliant plan to get you to sleep. Do you remember Step Two?”

He froze. 

“I, um, I’m not sure – “

“Let me refresh your memory,” she murmured into his ear, and kissed his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair. She heard a soft moan escape his lips, and as it had last night, all tension seemed to leave his body.

“I guess that worked,” he croaked, helplessly. 

“Oh, it did,” she teased. “Not only did it put you right out, but you confessed your love for me before succumbing to blissful slumber.”

Hardy sat bolt upright.

“What?!” His face turned crimson.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, grinning. I knew it was “false courage”. I even asked you about it, but you were already too far gone.”

“Wasn’t false courage,” he muttered. _So serious_ , she thought.

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t false. It was true.”

Ellie’s breathing seemed to stop.

“True?” Her voice shook more than she wanted it to.

“Aye,” he said gently. “I very much love you.”

He kissed her slowly again, and Ellie thought she might melt into the sofa cushions.

“I love you too, you grumpy knob.”

Their kisses deepened, and he eased her down onto the sofa. He was busy tickling her neck with his lips when he suddenly sat up.

“Wait!” he said. “What was Step Three?”

Ellie’s grin was pure evil. “Are you sure you’re ready for Step Three?”

Hardy gulped and nodded.

“All right then. But Step 3 cannot take place on the sofa. Bedroom,” she ordered.

Hardy couldn’t get to the bedroom quickly enough.

\--------

Some time later, after the completion of Step 3, when Hardy was well past the point where he could speak or think clearly, Ellie traced circles on his chest with her index finger.

“Alec,” she whispered, kissing his ear.

“Hmmm?”

“Stop having nightmares.”

“K.”

“I’m serious.”

“So’m I.”

“I need you to take care of yourself.”

“K.”

“Promise?”

“Uh huh.”

Ellie wasn’t sure he could keep that promise, but hoped that she had done enough to help him at least make the attempt. 

“Alec?”

“Hmmm.”

“What do we do now?”

“Don’ care. Long as it’s with you.”

For some reason, thought Ellie, _this isn’t weird._ Maybe it was that they had already seen each other at the lowest points in their lives, and not only did those shared experiences serve to seal their bond, but inexplicably seemed to make them stronger. Maybe their lives were already intertwined enough to where this seemed like a logical progression. Maybe it was because in a world filled with people they couldn’t trust, they always knew they could trust each other – for no other reason than that they loved each other completely and unselfishly – something Ellie hadn’t figured out until this one remarkable morning.

“Alec?”

“Mmm?”

“Let me know when you're ready for Step Four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two muffins. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
